


how to burn and survive

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/F, Face-Sitting, Forced Orgasm, I'm pretty sure Shaw is not a Samaritan sleeper agent but I can't guarantee it, mild breathplay, rough sex as torture recovery method
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not going to cry right now,” says Root, blinking hard, and Shaw imagines her force-quitting a program: <i>ctrl-alt-delete</i>.</p><p>“OK,” says Shaw, hoping that it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to burn and survive

“Come on, Harry, she doesn’t need us to be her prison guards.”

“Are you suggesting we leave her alone, Ms Groves? Might I remind you, Ms Shaw has been back with us for exactly one week--”

“During which time she’s been held hostage in this lovely safehouse, clearly designed to remind her of her status as prisoner.”

“I think it’s minimalist but tasteful.”

“The cage built into the walls was a nice touch. You really do recycle your methods, don’t you?”

“We do not know what Samaritan did to her! We have no way to guarantee that she wouldn’t be transmitting information back to them the second she leaves here. And now that she knows all about the Machine’s current state, thanks to you--”

“She escaped. We found her. I can’t believe you don’t trust her.”

“She said herself her escape felt too easy.”

“Look. I’ll watch her while you’re out tonight. I’m just saying, I don’t think she needs a babysitter. And yes, I know you’ll know if I let her out.”

98...99...100. Shaw executes her final push-up especially slowly, dragging out the burn in her arms and stomach as she tries to tune out the raised voices in the next room. She tries to remember if Root and Finch spent quite so much time arguing before. She thinks not, but she supposes they didn’t spend all their time stuck together in a safehouse in New Jersey, grappling with how to rebuild an AI and what to do with their resident former team member and current potential sleeper agent.

She flips onto her back and starts doing sit-ups.

* * *

“They don’t trust you,” says Root, entering Shaw’s room once Finch has left. 

Shaw shrugs, lying on the bed, workout over. “I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“They’re keeping you locked up.”

“Hey, it’s better than my last accommodation.” Shaw sees the way Root blinks at that, hard and deliberate like she’s stopping up a whole flood of tears, and fuck, that’s really not the reaction Shaw was going for. She rolls her eyes and winks at Root. “Better company, too.”

Root smiles. God, Shaw forgot the specifics of that smile, all unhinged glee and rare sincerity. She feels like the wind has been knocked out of her, but she’s pretty sure it’s a good feeling.

Root reaches out and touches Shaw’s arm, slowly, deliberately. No sudden movements. Shaw lies still, hopes that is enough of an invitation.

Root runs her fingertips across Shaw’s wrist. Shaw wonders if Root expects the skin to be raw and bloodied, if she imagines Shaw spent the last nine months ceaselessly fighting against ever-present restraints. She hopes she doesn’t have to explain it all to Root: that thing that happens when you accept that you’re trapped for the foreseeable future, the way you start to adjust, to be more compliant, to give up whole chunks of yourself to protect the parts you truly can’t afford to lose. 

You have to bend so it’s that much harder for anyone to break you. That’s how torture works. Shaw’s just going to trust that Root gets that, that she doesn’t need a play-by-play.

Root’s hand stills, resting on Shaw’s forearm. Shaw suddenly wants Root to dig those black-painted nails into Shaw’s skin, to grip and twist and make things normal again. Root hasn’t made a single innuendo since entering the room, and Shaw doesn’t like it. It makes her worry there’s something she’s supposed to be saying or doing that she can’t figure out, even though she’s pretty sure she knows how Root’s feeling right now.

Goddammit, Root’s supposed to be one of the people Shaw doesn’t have to worry about things like that around.

Root breaks the silence first. “Sameen, I—” she begins, her voice uncharacteristically small. “I’m glad you’re back,” she finishes finally. Understatement of the century, Shaw can tell.

Shaw sits up and takes Root’s hand in her own. She moves her head towards Root, parting her lips and looking into Root’s eyes, and Root closes the distance between them, pulling Shaw into a kiss.

Shaw pulls back first, keeping her hand in Root’s so as not to completely break contact. She’s still gunning for normal, so she says, “I haven’t heard you say a single thing about the fact that we’re all alone here. First time since I got back.”

Root turns away so she is no longer looking at Shaw, but Shaw thinks she sees her choke back tears. Shaw grits her teeth. She hates this, this new and terrible knowledge that Root is afraid to hurt Shaw all of a sudden. 

“If you want to cry, just do it,” says Shaw. It comes out harsher than she means it to. There aren't a lot of people she would do this for (allow--no, suggest--they cry in her arms) and she hopes Root realizes that, hopes she recognizes what the gesture means, because Shaw isn't sure she can explain it.

“I don't want to cry. I want to be happy, I mean, you're here, I'm here, we're really…fuck, Sameen, I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted this to go at all.”

Shaw isn’t sure what to do with her free hand. She puts it on Root’s shoulder and immediately wants to remove it.

“I’m not going to cry right now,” says Root, blinking hard, and Shaw imagines her force-quitting a program: _ctrl-alt-delete_. “I’m gonna stop, and I’m gonna kiss you again.”

“OK,” says Shaw, hoping that it is.

Root presses their lips back together like she’s asking a question, and Shaw answers the first one she can think of: she gives in, opens her mouth to invite a full invasion. She hopes Root knows what this means, too. 

Root, however, keeps the kiss light, her fingers tangled in Shaw’s hair but failing to pull. Shaw opens her eyes and finds Root’s open as well, wearing the kind of concentrated expression she had the few times Shaw caught her preparing for a new cover identity, those moments of research before she’d been able to make it all look effortless. Shaw is frustrated, or maybe just tired; she can’t tell. They used to be able to do all this without words, which is a real plus in Shaw’s book, but evidently that’s not the case right now.

Shaw pulls back. “Is this what you want? To take things slow?” 

“I wouldn’t call jumping you two minutes into getting you alone slow, would you?” 

Shaw smiles, because this, this is Root, or at least a hint of her. Maybe. Shaw wonders if Root is peeking out from under this gloomy cloud of whatever-the-fuck or if she’s plastering a convincing imitation of herself on top of it.

“I’m not gonna break,” says Shaw, trying again. “We can be all softcore, do this vaseline lens shit if you want, but for what it’s worth, I’d love you to destroy me tonight.”

“But Sameen, you’ve already--Samaritan, they--”

“They didn’t destroy me, Root.” 

“No,” says Root, biting her lip, “they didn’t.” She’s still for a long moment, and Shaw thinks of a cursor, blinking blinking blinking, waiting for input. Finally, Root nods, more to herself than to Shaw, and then her lips are back on Shaw’s, harder, insistent. Root kisses with teeth and tongue this time, claiming her mouth the way Shaw wanted. Her hand is gripping Shaw’s t-shirt, and she pulls away to yank it over Shaw’s head, pulling Shaw’s bra off after it and squeezing Shaw’s breasts roughly.

Shaw lets her hands fall to Root’s waist, urging her on but making it clear she’s giving Root control. Root pinches Shaw’s nipples, twists them under her fingertips until Shaw’s breath hitches. 

“You know you can stop me, right?” says Root, pulling back but keeping Shaw’s hardened nipples trapped between thumb and forefinger.

“Root. I know how kink works. Neither of us are new at this.” Shaw concentrates on the pain in her breasts, letting the tight knot of anticipation she feels at the further violence Root’s fingers promise helping her find the words she needs. “I want you to hurt me. But only if you want to.” Root nods, but stays still.

“You know, you can stop too, anytime,” says Shaw, when Root still hesitates, and maybe that’s what Root needs, because suddenly there are nails scratching down Shaw’s stomach, fingers slipping under the waistband of her jeans. Root pulls Shaw’s pants down without undoing them, and Shaw helps her get them off, followed by her socks and underwear. Root unbuttons her own jeans and pulls them off too, and already the whole room smells like their arousal, and Shaw’s missed this, the look in Root’s eyes when she’s wet but also something more than that, the way Root’s touch makes her feel--not safe, but something analogous. A fragile kind of safe.

Root digs her teeth into Shaw’s neck, pushing her down onto her back on the bed and planting one of her thighs between Shaw’s legs. She bites in a way Shaw knows will leave a mark, scraping her teeth repeatedly over the same spot. Shaw can feel herself sliding along Root’s thigh, grinding her already-wet cunt against Root’s smooth skin, and she lets her body relax into the grip of Root’s jaws.

Shaw runs her hands underneath Root’s shirt and up her back, and when Root pulls away from Shaw’s neck she guides the shirt over Root’s head. Root smiles, tossing the shirt and her bra on the floor on top of the rest of their clothes, but Shaw frowns.

“What’s that from?” says Shaw, pointing at the burn marks on Root’s chest. 

“Can we talk about this later? I can think of so many other things I’d like your mouth to be doing right now.”

“Root. Who did that to you?”

Root laughs, unhinged and humourless. “I always thought Harold was being dramatic when he said the Machine kept trying to kill him when he was building Her.”

“The Machine did this too you?”

“Don’t worry, Sameen. This was from one of the first times we rebooted Her, and She wasn’t trying to hurt me personally. She didn’t even remember who I was. And now She does, and She wants to protect me again, so it’s fine.”

Shaw can tell that for Root, the worst part of this story is the part where the Machine didn’t recognize its analog interface. Maybe this is the kind of thing they need to talk about now--the way Root loves like a kid playing chicken with a box of matches. But no. Shaw’s pretty sure she knows exactly what both of them need tonight.

“What’s this you were saying about my mouth?” says Shaw, schooling her tone into something less flat, more playful. Root smiles, and Shaw relaxes, glad to be on familiar ground once more. 

“Well, I was going to suggest we start with a different game, but since you ask so nicely--how would you feel about me sitting on your face?”

As an answer, Shaw grabs Root’s hips and urges her forward. Root crawls up Shaw’s body, stopping to let Shaw take one of Root’s breasts into her mouth before settling with her thighs on either side of Shaw’s face.

Shaw cranes her neck up to lick at Root through her panties, and Root nearly loses her balance, catching herself on the metal headboard. Shaw tilts her head and bites down gently, trapping Root’s labia lightly between her jaws, and Root stiffens, her body arched. Shaw can see Root’s hardened nipples, her smooth clenching stomach. She closes her mouth around Root’s cunt, sucking at soaked cotton and swollen flesh.

Root pulls back and Shaw almost groans at the loss. Standing up, Root pulls her panties off and tosses them to the floor. When she straddles Shaw once again, she wastes no time hovering above her and instead settles her cunt solidly onto Shaw’s mouth.

Root’s scent and heat are overwhelming, and Shaw feels a wave of arousal pass through her, making her press her legs together. She sticks out her tongue and circles Root’s entrance. Her tongue parts Root’s pubic hair, trimmed but long enough to be matted with wetness, then licks up to Root’s clit. At the contact, Root rests more of her weight on Shaw, grinding against her face, and Shaw quickly stops trying to do anything fancy and instead focuses on breathing as best she can while letting Root use Shaw’s lips and tongue and nose to get herself off.

Root grips Shaw’s hair in a brutal fist and pushes her cunt further into Shaw’s face. Shaw feels lightheaded and giddy, her mouth and nose buried in Root’s folds. She can feel Root’s wetness smeared across her cheeks and hear the sloppy sounds of her tongue against Root and she loves that Root’s not going easy on her anymore. Shaw’s scalp stings and her lungs scream and her whole world, everything she smells and feels and tastes and sees, is just Root, Root and the demands of her body.

Root’s breathing is growing shallower and her whimpers more high-pitched and Shaw focuses even harder on keeping her tongue’s rhythm firm and steady even as Root’s grip on her hair makes her eyes water and her hands clench into fists at her sides. She stops trying to angle her nose so she can take a proper breath and focuses her every action on fulfilling Root’s desire. Root grinds more rapidly and then grows still, coming with a choked cry, and Shaw’s only regret is that she can’t see her face. It’s been forever since she’s made Root come, and she’s not sure she remembers what that looks like. 

There’s always next time.

Root shifts to sit on Shaw’s chest, relinquishing her grip on Shaw’s hair with one final tug. She’s gasping as though she was the one recently deprived of oxygen. Shaw loves how messy Root looks, mussed hair and sweaty skin and lips bitten red and full, and she loves the knowledge that she must look even messier. Root’s wetness is drying on Shaw’s face, and Shaw sticks out her tongue and licks at whatever she can reach, watching the way Root’s eyes flutter closed at Shaw’s display.

“What’s this you were saying about another game?” asks Shaw.

Root’s face lights up. “You stay right there, sweetie. I’ll just be a minute.” Root races from the room, and Shaw can hear the zip of an opening suitcase. This is not a smart move, leaving a sort-of prisoner and possible sleeper agent unsupervised while Root herself is naked and clearly unarmed, and Shaw almost wants to tell Root as much when she returns, but she doesn’t want to see that flash of desperate anger in Root’s eyes again, and besides, she’s pretty sure she’s not actually a threat, so it’s probably OK.

Then Root reappears, and all thoughts of the ethics of being a responsible potential Manchurian candidate leave Shaw completely.

“You ever use one of these, Sam?” asks Root, holding up a formidable-looking magic wand vibrator, with an honest-to-god power cord and a head as big as Shaw’s fist, and coming in to sit on the bed once again. Shaw nods, her arousal building at the sight of the toy in Root’s hand and the grin on her face. 

Root’s smile widens into something Shaw is sure most people would describe as deeply unsettling. “Then you know how…intense they can be. It would be really mean of me to use this on you and not let you come, wouldn't it?” she says, and Shaw feels her arousal throbbing like a pulse between her legs. “But maybe,” Root continues, “it would be even meaner to make you come until it hurts.”

“I don’t need to tie you up, do I?” she continues, spreading Shaw’s legs as casually as though she’s setting a table, and moving to kneel between them. She tilts her head to one side. “You know as well as I do how much I like a little bondage between friends, but right now I think we’d both rather keep it very clear that no one’s making you do this.”

Part of Shaw hates Root for saying that, but part of her is grateful, and she supposes Root gets some points for keeping her tone light. The truth is, Root’s right; as much as Shaw used to love struggling against restraints as Root tormented her, right now she wants to know the only thing holding her here is her own desire. 

She nods.

“Good girl,” says Root. “Grip the bars on the headboard. If you let go, I’ll stop.” She leans down and plugs the vibrator into the wall, then slips a condom from her pocket and tugs it awkwardly over the toy’s bulbous head, smearing on some lube and wiping the excess casually on Shaw’s thigh. “I wish you could sterilize these things, but you really can’t,” she says in explanation, and before Shaw can comment on the fact that Root apparently carries this big-ass vibrator around in her suitcase while on the run from an evil AI, Root flicks the toy on and presses it firmly against Shaw’s cunt.

Shaw feels her body tense, her hands holding desperately to the metal above her head. Root holds the vibrator steady against her clit, and Shaw isn’t sure whether her body is telling her to grind against the sensation or wriggle away. She moves her hips tentatively against it and is surprised when she feels her arousal cresting and breaking. Her orgasm makes her go still once more, then move to relax slightly, but the movement only pushes her further against the still-firm touch of the vibrator.

Root is grinning. “You came already? I’m impressed. I wonder how many more times I can make you come before you have a hard time closing your legs.” Her smile turns wicked. “Not that you’re usually one for keeping your legs closed.”

Shaw grits her teeth and smiles. “Bring it.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” says Root, and then she begins moving the vibrator, running it up and down between Shaw’s folds. Shaw stays still, letting the toy in Root’s hand stroke firmly at her clit from underneath, enjoying the way she already feels equally needy and raw, pain mixing with pleasure between her legs.

Her next orgasm builds more slowly, rising with each push of the toy against her clit, but finally she comes again, screaming through clenched teeth as Root guides her through it with impossibly firm pressure, not letting up even as Shaw’s legs jerk and her hands struggle to keep hold of the bars.

Then, Root pulls back.

Shaw is half-grateful, half-offended for the temporary reprieve. Does Root really think this is all she can take? Her cunt throbs, blood pounding through her over-sensitive labia, and Shaw takes a minute to catalogue the sensation. She raises her hips, unsure if the gesture is one of challenge or supplication. 

“I hope you don’t think we’re done here, Sameen,” says Root, after watching Shaw struggle to take stock of her body. “What I love best about this particular piece of equipment is that is has two settings. So far, we’ve only tried the lowest one.”

Shaw resists the urge to try to press her legs together, to remove her hands from the bars and cover her cunt with her palms. She looks at Root’s face, all undisguised lust and playful sadism, and reminds herself of her earlier challenge, of how much she wants Root to destroy her.

Root flicks the vibrator to its higher setting, and the buzzing turns menacing, rising in both pitch and volume. When she presses it back against Shaw’s still-throbbing cunt, Shaw groans. She can feel her body responding to the pleasure of such powerful vibrations against her nerve endings, but the pain feels more immediate, more insistent, overpowering every other sensation. Root rubs and twists with the toy, smiling at Shaw as though she isn’t currently making Shaw’s entire body feel electrified, raw, overwhelmed. Shaw thinks of overloading a circuit, of the buzz of power before it blows. She thinks of Root’s latest scar, presumably acquired during a similar event, and she thinks of all her own new scars, none of which Root has commented on thus far, and she thinks of lighting a gas stove, click click click until it catches, and she screams.

Her orgasm goes on and on, unless maybe it’s many orgasms all in a row, blending together. Shaw closes her eyes and just feels, feels the way her limbs twitch and her muscles spasm and her hips move like they want both more and less of whatever this is. It’s too much, it’s _too much_ , and it’s happening, and Shaw embraces it, lets Root tug sensation after sensation out of her, twisting, twisting.

It takes Shaw a moment to realize it’s stopped--the buzzing, the press of the vibrator. The pain and pleasure linger in her hypersensitive cunt, but Root is curling up beside her, stroking her stomach impossibly lightly with the pads of her fingers.

Root doesn’t say anything, which Shaw appreciates. Instead, she tilts her head into the crook of Shaw’s neck, and Shaw likes the way she still seems to fit.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel iffy about how I characterized Root's relationship with the Machine here, but idk, it wrote itself really smoothly so here we are


End file.
